Archive for January, 2016

First couple sips strong black coffee
couple tokes cheap weed
a bit more coffee
see if the ache of pains pass
sit in the low light
waiting for sun to rise
my favorite time of day
before light before strife
before might turns to maybe
turns to later
turns to lost
turns to let it go
walking this waking wheel
working the worry weave
for answers
to get through one more day
rolling the rock
losing the rock
rolling the rock
losing the rock
letting it go
letting it all go
cherishing what remains

Rats sing.
Rats laugh.
Rats line their nests
with gnawed American money.

The rich sing.
The rich laugh.
The rich also line their nests
with money not their own.

I prefer rats.
They do it for love.

– Smith, 1.29.2016

Think my new piece East of the Sun, West of the Moon, 20″ x 16″ might be done. Have to see how the various shades of copper corrosion age, and how the broken bits of staples rust through the white puff sky clouds.

This was a hard piece because I started with the 6″ tall Edgar Allen Poe action figure, which seriously limited my options. It was a fight from start to finish, which was fun.

14th day of broken kneecap. Seems at least a week longer. Believe the immobile leg awkwardness, the low constant hum of pain, and the no long hot bath soak’n’tokers are starting to drain my positive outlook reserves . . . just a wee bit physically and mentally weary. Plus want to start new art piece and you should see my slapstick routine of getting down and up from the floor where I work . . . and I have to work off to my right side since my left leg’s stiff out left. Trade knee immobilizer for a cloth brace in a week.

Forgot one break in earlier brokebone list – add my high school nose to the eight ribs, right hand, right wrist, left wrist, right elbow, left elbow, collar bone, big toe, left knee, and cracked pelvis (plus innumerable cracked ribs over the years).

Will be 70 in six weeks. Seventy years old. And the adventure just keeps moilivating over the hill.

Used to read the paper front to back except for the business and sports sections, but then started reading them as well when I realized how much crime was involved. Good ole Albert Bell’s corked bat odyssey when a Cleveland Indians teammate crawled through the air ducts to switch evidence bats was the start. Turns out business and sports are essentially crime reporting.

But when we came back from our 31 month jaunt out of the country, the Plain Dealer had been stripped of writers due to their ever decaying financial picture, and their right-wing posturing became a bit too obvious, so I quit.

Unfortunately Lady with her soft heart read that the PD was in trouble subscriber-wise and signed up to help . . . in spite of my entreaties not to.

Since then it’s been delivered late, to hidden areas of the yard, other renters doors, and sometimes not at all. But when they went from 7-day-a-week delivery down to 4-days-a-week, they lost what little utility they had for me, which was reading the daily comics and solving the daily Jumble puzzle.

Now they’ve decided to make the comics about 25% smaller, so I can no longer read then in normal light . . . this is of course after already making them smaller years ago.

Seems to me the Plain Dealer newspaper’s main business model these days is fucking me over more and more so they can afford to keep their right-wing propaganda rag going.